


Bedtime Stories

by IamShadow21



Series: Abandoned, Unfinished and Unpublished Potter Works [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: weasley_fest, Dirty Talk, Egypt, Fantasizing, First Time, Gift Fic, M/M, Past Lovers, Sex Talk, Sexual Fantasy, Storytelling, Unpublished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-20
Updated: 2009-06-20
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamShadow21/pseuds/IamShadow21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry wants to hear a story. Bill reminisces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedtime Stories

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot all about this; apparently it was a giftfic in an exchange for slash-srs. I have no idea which exchange, only that the file is dated 20th June 2009, which sounds way too late to me, since I wrote most of my Potter fic in '07 and '08. So unless someone comes forward, I have no way of finding out. Google struck out, so I guess the original fest comm is deleted? IDEK. 
> 
> EDIT: AHA, I found it, it was for Weasleyfest for nashmaveric, probably a pinch-hit, because star54kar is my sweetie.

In the darkened room, after their pulses have slowed and the sweat has cooled, Harry often pillows his head on Bill's chest and murmurs, "Tell me a story."

By day, Harry is mature, almost too mature for his years, but in the quiet solitude of their bed, he becomes like the child he was never allowed to be, wanting nothing more than a tale to take him towards his dreams. 

Sometimes Harry wants quiet stories of domesticity, childhood tiffs, adventures and misadventures that end with bath and bed and sleep under Molly Weasley's watchful eye. Other times he yearns for adventure, tales of pyramids, curses and goblins. More often than not, it's not the words he clings to, but the rhythmic lull of Bill's deep voice that seems to guarantee him uninterrupted slumber.

"Tell me about Egypt," Harry asks, tonight. "Tell me about the first time you had sex."

With a hand combing through Harry's unruly hair, Bill smiles and begins.

It's a favourite of Harry's, and how could it not be? Bill's rather fond of it himself. But rather than skipping to the good bits, he disciplines himself by starting at the beginning, in London, at the Portkey Office, and Harry gives a small, happy sigh that flutters across Bill's chest hair. The confusion with destinations and luggage is laid out quickly, with Harry laughing at the funny parts, even though he's heard this story dozens of times before.

"I thought it'd be a hotel," Bill says, about his accommodation, "but goblins believe in bare necessity. It was a room on the poor side of the city. Just a reed mat on the floor and a communal pump in the courtyard for washing and drinking water alike. None of my neighbours spoke English. I never felt more alone and out of place in my life." For a moment, he pauses and lets the echo of that loneliness wash over him. He'd cried that night, then sent a falsely cheerful owl to his family the next morning.

"And then you met Luc," Harry prompts, his palm smoothing over Bill's hip, drawing Bill's attention back to the present.

"Yes," Bill agrees, with a quiet smile. "Then I met Luc."

Luc was a charming Frenchman, a year Bill's senior, who'd been recruited fresh out of Beauxbatons. He was rather plain to look at, but had an easy way about him that everyone seemed to respond to, and, having already spent a year in Egypt, he was able to give Bill a crash course on survival in Cairo. For three months, they were the best of friends.

"And then?" Harry asks.

"And then, we got drunk on wine in my room one night."

Luc had leant in close, his lips red and full, and told Bill that while the hard-to-get act was charming, he was getting impatient. And while Bill was still trying to muddle out what that meant with his wine-fogged brain, Luc had kissed him. And Bill had kissed back.

"He told me to relax, and enjoy it, and–" Bill cuts off with a sharp gasp as Harry cups his testicles and gives them a gentle squeeze. "Oh... oh, yeah, he did that," Bill sighs. He can feel Harry smiling into his skin. "His hands..."

It was hard not to get lost in the sense memory of that night; the sour tang of cheap wine on their tongues, the aroma and stink of a foreign city, the practiced hand of an experienced lover. Harry's fingers dip lower, drawing a light circle over his perineum, making Bill shiver.

"His hands?" Harry asks, sensing that Bill is drifting.

"Rough. Strong. From using a shovel," Bill says. "Like yours," he adds. Harry's broom calluses aren't that different to Luc's shovel ones, and they catch and rub in the same pleasant way as Harry forms a loose fist round Bill's cock, stroking slowly as it hardens. "We had to be quiet," he stutters out. "Family next door. Thin walls." He whispers, though there's no need in the present day. "But... but then..."

Harry's hot mouth envelops him, just like he knew it would, but it's still a tight wet shock that jolts a loud groan from him. Harry pulls off for long enough to say, "Keep talking", and Bill does, though he's not sure it makes much sense. He fists his fingers tightly in the hair of the man sucking him so gloriously, and sometimes it's a black, untidy thatch, and other moments it's the silky, golden-blond curls of the French boy he hasn't seen for ten years.

He's getting close under the relentless suction and the fingers that keep petting and stroking and squeezing his balls in that maddening, fantastic way, so he thrusts up harder, knowing Harry can take it, that Harry loves it when he loses control. Behind his eyelids, he sees Luc staring up at him in the semi-dark, his eyes large and cornflower-blue, those red, red lips stretched around his cock, and it sends him over the edge with a sharp, desperate shout.

After that, he's fumbling, pulling Harry up on top of him, fisting Harry's cock blurringly fast and kissing the taste of himself from Harry's lips as Harry bucks above him. It's deliciously messy and beautiful, and Bill revels in the slick slide of their bodies against each other as Harry bites at his lips between shuddering pulses of orgasm.

For several minutes they just lie there, their hands ghosting over each other gently, caressing, grounding each other both in the present again.

"And then?" Harry finally asks, his voice almost back to normal.

"Then he went back to France, two months later," Bill concludes. "I walked him to the Portkey office, and he kissed my cheeks and my lips, and called me his beautiful boy."

"Do you miss him?" Harry asks, and this isn't a part of the regular script.

Bill thinks for a moment. "No," he answers honestly. "What we had, it was wonderful, but it wasn't forever. Maybe what made it wonderful was that it was only for a little while."

The answer seems to be the right one, because Harry settles against Bill more closely. "I like that story," he says, his voice already noticeably thick and drowsy with impending sleep.

"So do I," Bill says, and gathers Harry to him just that little bit tighter.


End file.
